Inner Demons
by Pharaohess
Summary: Harry never finds out he is a Horcrux...after Voldemort is destroyed, Harry begins feeling strange and ‘dreams’ of recent attacks. What is happening to him? And is that blood on his hands? Sometimes it’s almost as if his soul isn’t his own...
1. Chapter 1

My dear readers; indulge me for a moment, please.

This story, as you've guessed, is an AU of the end of Deathly Hallows and what happens after, so there is much I have changed:

- Snape's memory was the same except for the mention of Harry being a Horcrux. He was dying, the memory was incomplete…

- This means there was no trip into the forest, although the Resurrection Stone was still in the Snitch…Harry just has no idea why.

- Nagini was still killed by Neville (gotta let him have his time to shine!)

_- Voldemort is dead._ The resurrected Dark Lord who had been terrorising the wizarding world _was_ defeated, his body and soul residing within it destroyed…this was due to the Elder Wand's power (even though Voldie wasn't the true master of it), so there is not another bodiless Voldie running around (like the time he attacked baby Harry). This means Voldemort's last piece of soul is…well, you can guess.

All I can really say is _bear with me, please! _I know it's a lot to ask, but trust me. I was a bit hesitant about writing this, truth be told, and I still am – I've got no idea how it'll be received by you, my wonderful readers!

Our story begins three weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts…

* * *

"_Confringo!"_

The box flying at him exploded. Harry dived behind a low wall, finding cover just as another curse flew through the spot he had been standing in not a moment before. Pausing to get his breath back, Harry listened for any sign of his attacker. The smoke from various spells and curses hung low in the air over their field of battle.

Something shivered through Harry. His Proximity Charm had been set off – that must mean his quarry was over the other side of the low wall…Harry flicked his wand at the space above him and thought _Protego!_ The Shield Charm expanded above him just as a figure appeared over the top of the wall and cast a spell, which deflected off the Shield Charm and back onto them. Harry's attacker fell with a strangled cry.

Grinning, Harry removed the shield above him and leaned over the wall, disarming his opponent with ease. Standing above the man now with a wand in each hand, his attacker shrugged and laughed.

"Okay, okay, Potter. I surrender."

Harry passed his opponent's wand back to him, and the man stood up and brushed himself off. Kayne Williamson had a long, dark ponytail – longer than Bill's, Harry reckoned – and always wore scarlet robes. At the moment these robes were slightly ripped and singed from the fight, but were quickly repaired with a few careful wand waves.

His robes now back to normal; Williamson turned on the lights with a further flick of his wand and illuminated the room he and Harry were standing in. It was about the size of Hogwarts' Quidditch Pitch, a magically strengthened room filled with empty crates, low walls, platforms and other obstacles. Scorch marks adorned the walls from countless duels, and everything had a well-worn look. Pieces of wood and concrete, blasted from the walls, were all over the floor. It was here Aurors duelled one another in practise and trained up those new to the department – like Harry.

"Well?" Williamson called to the roof. "Time?"

"Just under thirty-four minutes. Not bad, Potter." The voice that answered was coming from a small pane of strengthened glass in the top corner of the room, and the speaker was the current Head of the Auror Office, Gawain Robards. Robards had taken over the Auror Office once Rufus Scrimgeour had become Minister for Magic a few years ago, and had barely escaped with his life once the Dark Lord Voldemort had decided to kill Scrimgeour. He had returned from hiding to fight at Hogwarts, and after Voldemort was defeated was pleased to return to his position and welcome the 'Chosen One' into his department.

"That's better than I expected for your first fight," Robards was now saying. "But then again, you're always underestimated, aren't you, Potter? But now I see that I made the right decision. Williamson, take a break and then get him started on Concealment and Disguise for tomorrow."

"Sure thing, Sir." Williamson led the way out of the arena, and back into the offices.

The Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic was very ordinary looking. Every Auror had a cubicle, the walls plastered with everything from family photos and Quidditch posters to lists of Dark Wizards and their last known whereabouts and memos, and overall the atmosphere was light and friendly.

Harry dropped down into the chair in his own cubicle (its walls were vastly blank at the moment; he'd only been accepted into training under a week ago ago) while Williamson vanished to get two cups of coffee. Harry was absentmindedly rubbing a burn on his arm, received in the fight, when Mona Freeman, a sprightly middle-aged witch with blonde hair and an eye patch, popped her head over the wall of the cubicle next to him.

"Hello, Harry!" She looked down at the burn on his arm. "Just been in the arena, then? How'd you go?"

Harry frowned. What had Robards said? "Uh, thirty-four minutes, I think it was."

She looked impressed. "Oh, not bad! My first time was about forty-six."

New recruits were put in the 'arena' with a more experienced Auror and told to subdue their opponent. It was much harder than it sounded, as one entered with no knowledge of where their quarry was or who it was, how they would attack or what spell would appear first. Rules had been set down concerning the spells, charms, jinxes and curses that could and couldn't be used, and the Auror would go easy anyway – but not too easy. It was, quite simply, a way to gauge the skill of the new recruit.

Mona was looking at the burn on Harry's arm again. "Hang on…" she dropped down, out of sight, and Harry heard her searching for something before she reappeared, now holding a small unmarked tub, which she handed to Harry.

"St Mungo's best burn cream. It'll have that gone in about ten minutes."

"Thanks, Mona." Harry opened the tub and gently rubbed some of the sky blue cream on the burn, which immediately felt cooler. He handed the tub back just as Williamson reappeared with two cups of coffee.

"The last time I tried to magically summon coffee," Williamson said as he handed one cup to Harry and leant against the cubical wall, "was not a pleasant experience. I prefer a short trip to burns and humiliation, I think."

Harry grinned as Mona turned to Williamson. "So, Will – how'd he get you?"

Pausing to sip his coffee, Williamson shrugged. "I'm not that sure, actually. He was prepared, that was for sure…" He trailed off, raising an eyebrow at the young man sitting before him.

"I cast a Proximity Charm on myself, and you set it off," Harry said lightly, before taking a mouthful of coffee. It didn't matter if you were a wizard or muggle, coffee was coffee and coffee was heaven.

Williamson groaned as Mona laughed. "See, Will! Simplicity. Williamson doesn't believe in simplicity, he thinks it is below him," she added with a wink to Harry.

"Not true!" said Williamson defensively. "I just didn't think of it…"

"To be fair, he had me on the ropes a lot before I thought of the charm," Harry said, and Williamson grinned at him in return. "He would have got me if I hadn't thought of it."

"But you did!" said Mona. "And that made the difference. Quick thinking makes a quick Auror."

With a wink, she vanished back into her own cubicle. Williamson melodramatically rolled his eyes at Harry, before putting down his now empty coffee cup and pulling out his wand. One flick in the direction of his cubicle later, and a heavy book soared out of it and into his hands. He passed it to Harry.

"Well, I suppose you'd better read the chapter on the Polyjuice Potion before tomorrow, and brush up on Disillusionment Charm theory. They're both in there. You alright?" He added, brow furrowing. Harry had been absentmindedly rubbing his forehead, tired.

"I haven't been sleeping all that well lately," Harry said, shrugging.

Williamson nodded. "Doing too much, mate. Were you given a parchment this morning?"

"Uh, yeah…" Harry turned to his desk and found the pristine folded parchment that he had been given before going into the arena. It was a survey, filled with questions about various situations – the point was to answer what you would most likely do. Williamson had told him briefly that although it appeared mundane, people had been chucked out of the department before based solely off their answers and it wasn't to be taken lightly.

"Yeah, that's it." Williamson said now. "Think carefully about your answers – and be totally honest. They seem to know if you're only writing what you think they want to know. I'll leave you to it, Robards wants it as soon as possible." With a little wave, he left Harry to work.

Harry stared at the folded sheaf of parchment. With a barely suppressed sigh, he picked up his quill, opened it and looked at the first situation. Just like being back at school…

A week ago, Harry had contacted Kingsley Shacklebolt about joining the Auror Office – in reply, Kingsley had put him in contact with Gawain Robards, who had written back and said although Harry didn't have the required NEWTs, his reputation and skill was well known…so invited him into the office for an interview. Harry had gone willingly (praising him fame, for once) and Robards had taken a look at his OWLs, showed him letters of recommendation from Hogwarts he had asked for (concerning Harry's education and work), and asked Harry a number of things. Harry had been incredibly nervous (but as the interview had gone on he had relaxed) and Robards had agreed to accept him into the department for training.

The arena fight this morning had been his first real chance to prove his skill and show what he knew. He was glad to have impressed Robards enough, and it seemed that he was here to stay.

Harry had been introduced to Kayne Williamson on the first day. Williamson was going to be responsible for much of Harry's training, although there were other Aurors who had specialities in certain areas and would take part as well. Harry learnt quickly that those in the Auror Department were doing the most serious of work – but kept much of the seriousness for their assignments. Everyone was friendly towards him, giving him words of encouragement. Williamson had explained that the Aurors had to work well together, so were friends more than colleges, and everyone usually became involved with the training of new recruits.

Harry had felt a lot better about walking in here the next morning after the interview, when he had been given a basic outline of how training usually worked…it was like being back at school, only the lessons were one on one. Harry would get instruction on all aspects of being an Auror – spells and curses, Transfiguration, problem solving, poisons and antidotes, concealment and disguises, tracking…Harry knew it was going to be like day after day after day of nothing but Defence Against The Dark Arts.

The first few days had been filled with meeting other Aurors and watching others train, and showing some of the other trainers what he knew and could remember – it had been like a pop-quiz everyday for every one of his Hogwarts subjects. They all seemed pleased with what he could recall, and all warned it would only get harder and more complex – harder defensive spells, more complex and dangerous potions, stranger charms. Harry had accepted the knowledge, determined to make this his living.

Hours later found Harry only partway through the survey. The questions required in depth and full answers, and Harry was being as honest as he could be. When he next glanced at his watch, he was surprised to see how many hours had gone by while he was deep in study. Mona and Williamson found him told him to take a break from it, and he joined them to get something to eat.

Mona especially had taken Harry under her wing. She was in charge of the training concerning potions, poisons and antidotes – Harry thought her knowledge could easily have outstripped Slughorn's or Snape's, and she had even told Harry that she had been asked to become the Potions Master at Hogwarts, but had turned it down out of a want of action.

"This," Mona said, pointing at her eye patch as the three of them lounged in the Ministry cafeteria, "was lost years ago. My depth perception's really gone, but it hardly maters now, as in a fight things go so quick and I've learned to compensate for it anyway."

"How did you loose it?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. He had thought it an impersonal question to ask, and hadn't wanted to bring it up, but to his surprise Mona grinned and launched into a story about a dark wizard she had been involved in capturing five or six years ago.

"I still don't know what curse it was…anyway, it hit me right in the eye; the Healers at St Mungo's had no choice to but to remove it…I've got it in a jar on my mantel piece…I'm kidding!" She added hastily, seeing the look on both Harry's and Williamson's faces.

Mona's eye was still on Harry's mind as he returned to his paperwork, along with the cynical thought that here he was, training to be a Dark Wizard catcher…and still doing paperwork.

As the afternoon wore on, Harry found it harder and harder to concentrate. He was so tired…the fight earlier on must have taken a lot out of him. Putting his head on the desk to contemplate another answer carefully, Harry's thoughts mixed and wound together…and he jerked up suddenly to find he must have drifted off accidentally…but not for long, he saw, as he looked at his watch, relieved. Only quarter or half an hour…

Shaking his head to dispel any remaining vestiges of sleep or drowsiness, he looked back down at the parchment. His last answer lay unfinished. Harry picked up the parchment to re-read what he had been writing, and his heart leapt.

On such an offender, I would be sure to perform the Cruciatus Curse first, to weaken them and watch them struggle. Once or twice, enough to hear them scream and beg for death, and then – and only then – would I be merciful, performing Avada Kedavra to end their pathetic life.

Harry dropped the parchment back to the desk. He hadn't written that…he'd never…maybe one of the other Aurors had put it there as a joke? It was on a separate parchment sheaf, one he had been about to write on himself. Harry folded it up and put it away, inside his jacket so it wouldn't be seen. If it was a joke, it sure as hell wasn't funny. A little voice in the back of his head told him that the other Aurors wouldn't be that insensitive, even in jest, even to the new recruit. He pushed it away…he sure hadn't written it, so someone else putting it there was the only other explanation. Right?

Harry looked at his watch properly. It was almost time to go for the day. He'd finish the character test tomorrow. He picked up his jacket and swung it on, peeking over into the Mona's cubicle.

"Am I good to go?" Harry asked, just managing to keep his voice casual.

Mona nodded, her head on the side, watching him closely. Harry was suddenly reminded of Luna. "You look a bit pale. Feel ok?"

"Yeah," said Harry off-handily. "Yeah, bit tired."

She nodded again, clearly only half-believing. "Get a good night's sleep, and we'll see you back here at nine."

Harry smiled at her and left, pausing only to say goodnight to Williamson and say he was leaving. Once out of the office, and alone in the lift en route to the Atrium, Harry took a few deep breaths and composed himself. He was overreacting, that was all. It was just a joke, made worse by sleep deprivation…

Stepping out into the Atrium, Harry moved off to lean against one wall to wait for Mr Weasley, his mind still on the words. Even as Arthur Weasley appeared, smiling and they prepared to Apparate back to the Burrow, Harry could no longer suppress the worst thing about what had just happened. The one thing he didn't have an answer to.

It had been his handwriting.

* * *

The Auror Training is much my own creation, as we don't know much about it…and I gave Williamson his first name and Mona Freeman is much my own creation (although she is mentioned, but unnamed, in the books).

Reviews are much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Man, the turnover of HP fics is incredibly impressive…anyway, thanks to the (one) who reviewed – kiki-kobre, thank you so much! – and those who read but didn't, you're awesome too.

* * *

A few moments of crushing darkness later, Harry breathed in deeply, tasting the honeysuckle in the cool evening air. It was a welcome change form the recycled air of the Ministry, which was, of course, located underground. Even though Magical Maintenance did amazing work, fresh air was only this refreshing and this good when it was pure.

Next to Harry, Arthur was straightening his travelling cloak, having just Apparated too. With a smile he and Harry began walking towards the warm light that was the Burrow, a long awaited haven. The evening was cool but still light, as the two wizards walked down the lane.

Harry had been staying at the Burrow ever since the Battle of Hogwarts. He couldn't go back to the Dursleys, of course, and he hadn't really considered what he would do as far as living arrangements went: a war with Voldemort drove such normal concerns fro the mind. Mrs Weasley had told him to stay with them, and at first the arrangement had seemed temporary – but three weeks on he was still here, in Fred and George's old room. And Molly didn't seem to care at all.

Hermione was staying at the moment – she had been to Australia and found her parents, and lifted the enchantment on them. After explaining why she had done it and what had happened, the Grangers had retuned to their old house in England and were now getting the hang of sending owls. Hermione spent her time split between them and the Burrow, where Molly maintained another feminine touch was always needed in a house full of men. The genders were in fact even at the moment; no one had the heart to point this out to her.

Molly and Arthur, and Ron and Ginny, were recovering from the shock of loosing a son and brother. Ron had spent his free time helping George in Diagon Alley with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Harry hadn't seen much of George save through Ron, who said his elder brother was still completely mental and actually seemed to be doubly so, as if he was making up for Fred. Bill and Fleur visited from time to time, and Teddy Lupin and Andromeda did too. Charlie had returned to Romania and his dragons, but Percy was still around, living in London and working at the Ministry and appearing for dinner at least three times a week.

In fact, Harry reflected as they came closer to the Burrow, everyone had come a surprisingly long way in a short amount of time. A month ago Voldemort was still making life a living hell for most, and terror was everywhere, people were dying…now it was a memory, but a vivid one. Everyone had come to terms with what had happened well, and now life was getting back to normal. Or as normal as it could in the wizarding world.

Stepping through the gate of the Burrow, Harry could smell dinner on the air. It made him realise how hungry he was, and he couldn't bite back a smile. On opening the door there was a chorus of welcoming calls coming from the living room. Harry and Arthur wandered through to those waiting within.

Molly was folding washing, Hermione had her nose in a book (as usual) and Ron and Ginny were sprawled on the floor playing chess. Arthur approached Molly to give her a kiss and Harry shrugged off his jacket and bag, dropping down behind Ginny to give her a hug and sit down next to her. Molly and Arthur went through to the kitchen, leaving the four teens alone.

"How was training?" Ginny asked, giving Harry a swift kiss on the cheek.

"Did you go into the arena today?" Hermione added, looking up over the edge of her book.

"Fine, and yeah," Harry answered, adding in an undertone to Ginny, "take out his knight and you might be able to check him."

Ron scowled over the board. "Oi! No giving her help. So, what's it like?"

"The arena? It's like a massive room with obstacles and platforms and stuff. You've got to subdue another Auror as quickly as you can. There are a few rules concerning spells, but pretty much anything goes. You still considering joining the Department, Ron?"

Ron paused, one hand hovering over a knight. "Maybe. I'm still helping George, but I don't know how much longer he'll need me for. I'll think about it when the time comes."

Harry nodded, his eyes flicking up to Hermione. In true Hermione form, she was going back to Hogwarts in the new school year to complete her seventh year and get her NEWTs. It was strange to think that her and Ginny would be in the same year, both sitting the exams at the same time…Harry had to admit he'd seriously thought of joining her, but had decided her wanted to do the Auror training more. When both him and Ron had made their reasons about not going back, Hermione had rolled her eyes and said something about it being 'exactly what she had told McGonagall'.

Dinner was always a homely affair to Harry. To be here with these people, in such a relaxed state as this, was something that made Harry thankful. Tonight, Percy appeared, as did Bill and Fleur, and George, so the Burrow was as full as it allowed. It was almost as if the war had never happened, Harry thought sadly as he looked around the full table. Fred could just be in the next room…

After dinner, the nights were mainly lazy and calm. Ginny and Bill battled it out on the chessboard while Harry cornered Hermione about all she knew of Disillusionment Charms (which turned out to be most useful) and they had fun discussing other methods of magical concealment. Fleur and Molly were chatting about children (while Bill was trying to act like he couldn't hear them) and Percy and Arthur were talking about the changes at the Ministry.

As Hermione started to divulge the more obscure facts and points to a Disillusionment Charm, Harry's focus began to slip. He was exhausted – although from the day or something else he didn't know. He had been ever since the war, really. Ever since it ended, ever since the pain lessened…pain…

_…perform the Cruciatus Curse first, to weaken them and watch them struggle. Once or twice, enough to hear them scream…_

Harry pushed the thought away. He was overreacting, that was all. It was just a sick joke.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice broke into his thoughts. "Are you listening?"

"What? Sorry, Hermione. I lost track…what were you saying?"

Hermione was looking at him, her head on the side, scrutinising him. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, fine. _Really_," he added, sharper than he meant to. Hermione looked slightly taken aback, and Harry immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm just exhausted. I haven't been sleeping properly lately, and I'm tired all the time." He ran a hand across his forehead distractedly. "It's given me a bit of a short fuse."

Hermione nodded. "Well, I've told you all the basics of a Disillusionment Charm anyway. Go to bed and get some sleep, Harry. You look as if you need it."

Harry made an affirmative noise, but before he could rise, the four guests were discussing their own plans to leave and return to their respective homes. The three Weasley brothers – and one Weasley sister-in-law – bid goodnight to the four teens and left, Molly and Arthur leaving also to accompany them to the gate.

Harry gave Ginny a kiss goodnight and made his own excuses, making his way up to the second floor and the room he called home. It had been Fred and George's room; and Harry occasionally found a remnant of a prank or a half-developed magical sweet somewhere around.

He moved to put his jacket over the back of the desk chair, and as he did so something rustled in the pocket.

He pulled out the parchment and unfolded it. It was definitely his writing…but he didn't recall writing it at all. And he wouldn't write this kind of stuff…he'd never used – or attempted to use – the Avada Kedavra. And the Cruciatus Curse he'd only used properly once, and that was in defence of another. He would never, _never_ use it for fun…

"Harry? You okay, mate?"

Ron was looking through the open door at where Harry was standing totally still and looking at the parchment in his hands.

"Yeah, Ron, fine," Harry lied, screwing up the parchment and throwing it onto his desk.

* * *

Ginny sat, watching the doorway as Harry left, and Ron soon after. She was biting the inside of her lip, hoping Harry was okay…he had seemed different as of late. She guessed it was because of what had happened only weeks ago, but something – instinct, perhaps – told her that there was something more to it.

Hermione followed he sightline, guessing her train of thought. "What is it, Ginny?"

"Harry…" the younger girl muttered, before tearing her eyes away from the door to look at Hermione. "I'm worried about him."

Ever since the war, Harry had been…different. He'd been quieter, grief stricken – they all had, to be fair – and after being told _everything_ about what had happened, Ginny could understand that. Everything Harry had been through was horrific. But just as of late, he seemed to be slightly distant, looking more and more exhausted and drawn out, occasionally lashing out at those around him…

"He's just tired, Gin," Hermione said soothingly. "I'm sure he's okay."

Ginny shook her head. "I'm sure there's something else. It just…it doesn't feel right."

"I've noticed it too," Hermione said quietly after a moment. "And so has Ron…but there's not much we can do about it. He says he's fine."

"He said he was fine a lot during everything that happened – you know that as well as I do and probably better, Hermione. I'm still worried…there's something he's not telling us."

* * *

Harry opened his eyes slowly. Once again he felt as if he hadn't slept at all…but this time it was probably due to the dreams he had had last night…they were fragmented and vague, as always, but there had definitely been something to do with the Dark Mark and Voldemort…

Rubbing a hand over his scar, which was throbbing angrily, Harry sighed and rose from the warm confines of his bed.

A relaxing shower later, Harry was dressed and on his way downstairs. Upon entering the kitchen, he could feel the tense atmosphere. Those at the table turned to him when he entered, and Ron silently pushed a copy of the morning's _Prophet_ towards him. Harry took one look at the front page and felt his jaw drop.

_DARK MARK SEEN OVER LONDON – NO DEATHS KNOWN OF _

_Last night the Dark Mark was seen hovering over Diagon Alley. No deaths have been reported as of yet, but those in Diagon Alley have been told to stay in their homes while Ministry of Magic officials comb the area. The Dark Mark is, of course, the sign of You-Know-Who, who was defeated by Harry Potter at the beginning of the month…_

Harry tore his eyes from the article and looked at the photo. It was of the Dark Mark floating above the recognisable roofs of the shops in Diagon Alley…and it reminded him painfully of a similar photo, years ago…at the Quidditch World Cup…

Harry dropped the paper back to the table and looked up, stunned. "They can't be serious! It's a hoax, or something."

Arthur looked troubled. "It's no hoax. That's the real mark."

"But…" Harry ran a hand through his hair. "He's…"

"Gone?" Ginny supplied. "We know. We all know."

"They say in the article it's probably one of the remaining Death Eaters who are on the run, trying to inspire fear," said Ron, pulling the Prophet towards him. "They've got a list of those who have evaded capture."

Over Ron's shoulder, Harry scanned the list, looking at the images of the Death Eaters with extreme dislike. He could remember them all, laughing as he was tortured in the graveyard, killing without mercy in the Hogwarts corridors…these had been the ones clever and stupid enough to get away…the others were all inside Azkaban, and these were the ones the Aurors were tracking…

Harry frowned at the list, pointing out three of them. "These three – Crabbe, Goyle and Rowle – they're not intelligent enough, probably couldn't remember the spell if their lives depended on it…"

"My galleons are on Lestrange," said Hermione bitterly. "Someone who married that horror Bellatrix would do something like this."

Harry nodded. And Rudolphus would like to inspire fear for the fun of it…

…and he had dreamed of it. Right then, he suddenly remembered – an image of the Dark Mark over rooftops, shimmering evilly. Or had that been coincidence? Surely, just coincidence.

* * *

It's getting weirder…poor boy. I'm really playing with his head in this one. A few seconds of your time for a review makes all the difference to me! 


	3. Chapter 3

My heartfelt thanks to those who had reviewed! Even a few words make my day.

* * *

By the time Harry and Arthur arrived at the Ministry, the _Prophet_ had been out long enough to ensure everyone knew what was going on. Security checkpoints had sprung up in the hours since the news, and Harry had to undergo two checks for magical enchantment and concealment before he could get near the Auror Office. Obviously, the Ministry was convinced that whoever was responsible for the cark Mark would target the Ministry next, especially since the previous year it had been proved the Ministry was not imperious to infiltration. Of course, Harry had been part of that memorable experience, and he remembered how hard it had been. He personally didn't think anyone would try it.

The Auror Office was much busier than usual, to no surprise. Harry dumped his bag and jacket and looked into Mona's cubicle for an update on the situation, but she wasn't there. He looked up and saw her talking with a thin, lean Auror Harry didn't know and the familiar face of Kingsley Shacklebolt. She waved him over.

"…need to be talked to," Kingsley was saying as Harry approached. "Good morning Harry – I suppose you've heard?"

"Yes, Minister. Is there any idea who's behind it?"

"None…I must get back to my office, the _Prophet_ expects me to issue a statement." With a wave he was gone, away to the floor above. Kingsley, having been an Auror before being Minister, was much friendlier to the department than some past Ministers had been, Harry had been told, and Harry himself had always liked the imposing black man, ever since he had been part of the advance guard at Privet Drive in Harry's fifth year…

Mona shook her head. "Well, this has put the cat among the pigeons. Mark, you'd better get to Diagon Alley – Williamson and Robards will need all the help they can get, and you're the best at this kind of stuff…"

"Yeah, I'll see you later, Mona, Harry," he added, before hurrying off in the same direction as Kingsley.

"Who was that?" Harry asked, watching Mark's retreating form.

"Mark Abbeny. He's another Auror – good at the initial investigation stuff, he has a knack for seeing things others miss. Spell residue, things like that." Mona absentmindedly poked a finger underneath her eye patch and rubbed at it, and Harry almost had to look away. "Anyway, Williamson's down in Diagon Alley – has been since early this morning when the Mark was reported – he's talking to those living there and looking around the scene, so you'll be training with me today."

"I'm still being trained? Isn't this a crisis of some kind?"

Mona grinned. "Yeah, but one to inspire fear more than do actual damage. You're the new generation – you're going to be doing this someday, and we can't stop your training just because some idiot decided to have a laugh. You have any thoughts on it, though?"

Harry thought back to the conversation at the breakfast table earlier. "What about the escaped Death Eaters?"

Mona shrugged. "It's an obvious answer, and the one everyone – _Prophet_ included – has come to. Though if the _Prophet_ come to the same conclusion as us, then it feels too simple…"

"Some of the death Eaters are simple…like Crabbe and Goyle, and Thorfin Rowle."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"I went to school with Crabbe and Goyle's sons…trust me, they weren't the brightest of students. Brawn over brains, those two. And Rowle can't even tell who's on his own side in a fight: he's probably killed more Death Eaters than anyone realises…what?" Harry added, now aware that Mona was watching him with a grin.

"Nothing; it's just interesting to see your reasoning and how you recall knowledge so it relates to a certain situation."

Harry felt slightly cheated. "Was this a test?"

Mona shrugged. "Life's a test. Speaking of which, have you finished the situation parchment yet?"

Harry hesitated, the mysterious words coming back to the front of his mind. "Uh, no, I've still got one or two questions to complete…"

Mona appeared not to notice his hesitation. "Okay, well you go back and finish that and I'll work out what we're going to do today."

Two hours later, Harry finally put down his quill and sighed. He had been completely honest about what he had written, and had carefully reread everything to make sure he hadn't slipped up anywhere. He wasn't going to count the other paragraph as an answer, as it wasn't truthful to him and so technically was not a legitimate answer. After dropping in on Robard's desk (Robard was still investigating Diagon Alley or around the Ministry; either way he wasn't back in the Department yet), Harry looked in on Mona, who was buried in a book entitled _Darkness out of Depth._

When she finished her page, she marked with a flick of her wand (the page folded itself) and stood up grinning. "Thought today we might hit the kitchen."

"The kitchen?" Harry asked, perplexed. "What?"

Mona waved a hand dismissively. "I meant we'll go check out our potions rooms. You read up on the Polyjuice Potion?"

"Yeah…"

Mona lead him down the corridor, toward the arena, but she went through another door a room or so short of it. Inside was a room similar to Snape's (and later Slughorn's) dungeon, with various potion ingredients and creatures in jars around the walls. There was also a heavy bookcase filled with well-worn volumes, and a table covered with so many burns and stains that it was hard to tell what the original colour might have been (Harry guessed it was been made out of a light-coloured wood…or had been originally.)

Mona seemed pleased when she interrogated out of Harry the fact that he'd already felt the effects of the Polyjuice Potion first-hand (once completely illegally in his second-year of school, which Mona found hilarious, and once for safety during a visit to Godric's Hollow. He left out the infiltration of the Ministry, but had a feeling she might have already known).

She taught him how to make a Blood-Replenishing Potion. "It's a much needed potion, unfortunately. Knowing how to make one – and having some with you – has saved more than one Auror in the past. Not all Dark Wizards use magical means to fight. Sometimes, if they're caught without a wand they'll resort to more barbaric means…and you might find yourself in need of this."

It was a stark contrast, learning like this. One-on-one with a friendly instructor who showed tricks and shortcuts, and not with a class of others while a bat-like professor breathed down everyone's neck…

When Harry mentioned this, Mona laughed aloud. "Oh, I've heard stories about Snape. Potion making's much easier if you're relaxed…"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I did fine on my OWL, when there was no external pressure."

"An 'E', I saw before," Mona nodded. "Not bad at all. Well, it looks like the bay leaves have stewed enough. See how they've gone clear? That means you're ready to add the python syrup…" Mona pointed to a decanter of clear blue liquid on a shelf nearby. "Pour it in slowly, drop by drop, until the steam turns purple…there we go."

Harry grinned. Why couldn't Potions with Snape ever have been this easy?

At the end of the day, Mona had approved Harry's first try at the potion ("You'll get better and better every time you make it, trust me – soon it'll be like second nature, and be so good it rivals the one at St Mungo's!") and told him she would put it aside to separate before they tested it in the morning. Walking back to his desk to collect his things, Harry passed Williamson, sitting at his desk with a quill standing on a piece of parchment by itself. He appeared to be deep in thought but looked up as Harry approached.

"Hey, Potter. You were potioning with Mona today?"

"Yeah, she taught me a Blood-Replenishing Potion. Find anything at Diagon Alley?"

Williamson shrugged and swung his boots up onto his desk. "Found traces of the spell, and the point of incantation…but whoever cast it was long gone by the time we were on the scene, not surprisingly. No one saw anything…oh, that's not technically true…someone saw a figure, but they were in shadow. We're now pretty sure our man's just that – a man."

Harry nodded, thoughtful. "But spells cast light when they're performed…and the Mark's made out of stars anyway. Didn't the witness see anything from the light of the Mark, or from when it was cast?"

Williamson nodded. "Didn't see much, they said they were blinded by the spell…and as for the Mark, well, you'd be a bit distracted, right? But they did say it looked like a guy, dark haired. That's all we've got to go on, and it's not exactly specific…"

"Who was the witness?"

"Oh, a red-headed bloke who runs a joke-shop. Nice guy. Name escapes me."

Harry laughed. Now _this_ was coincidence. "George Weasley?"

Williamson looked surprised. "Yeah – you know him?"

"My best friend's brother. He's one of Arthur Weasley's sons – in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office? He was heading the Office for the Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects."

Williamson looked confused for a moment, then his expression cleared in recognition. "I thought his name was familiar…anyway, you off?"

"Yeah, Mona's letting me go. See you tomorrow."

Williamson nodded, going back to his letter. Harry paused at his won desk to grab a sheet of the purple memo paper and scribble a quick note to Arthur, telling him he was released early and that he'd see him back at the Burrow. Harry finished the memo, addressed it and lifted it up on one hand. There was a twitch, and the lilac paper folded itself into a paper plane, hovering above his flat palm. Harry blew lightly but sharply on it and it immediately zipped away from Harry's outstretched hand, towards its addressee.

Harry watched it go with a grin. It was simple, but he still thought it was cool.

An Apparation later, Harry was walking down the warm lane toward the Burrow. He hadn't even reached the gate when there was a cry of greeting and Ginny ran out of the house into his arms to meet him. She hugged him tightly, before looking up at him with bright eyes. "Hi. How are you?"

"Shattered…" He grinned down at her. "But seeing you makes me feel better."

Ginny giggled, but immediately covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, curse it! I never giggle, except when I'm with you. It's such demeaning noise…and it's your fault."

Harry laughed, and together they walked back to the house, arms around one another. Harry was part way through telling her about what he had been doing when he heard a familiar but surprising laugh coming from the vicinity of the kitchen.

"So Mona said…is that George?"

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, he came over a little while ago. Mum was frantic until she saw him; you know what she's like."

"He talked to one of the Aurors, Williamson…" Harry muttered thoughtfully as they entered the kitchen.

George Weasley was sitting at the kitchen table, leaning back on his chair. He waved at Harry as he entered. "Heya mate. How's the Ministry?"

"Paranoid. They're sure the on-the-run Death Eaters are going to walk straight in."

George rolled his eyes. "Yeah, they were like that in Diagon Alley, too. An Anti-Dissapparation Jinx was immediately put on the alley, but I don't know what they meant by it – the caster was long gone…"

"You saw him, didn't you?" Harry said immediately. "Williamson told me he spoke to you."

"Yeah. I was one of the first to see it. Nice claim to fame to make, but one I could have done without…anyway, he Disapparated before anyone got there."

Harry was now sitting at the table across from George, leaning eagerly across the table. Hermione and Ron had come in while George and Harry had been talking and were eagerly listening too. Molly had paused in her preparation of the evening meal, and Ginny was behind Harry with her hands on the back of his chair. George, sensing to eager anticipation of his audience, gave a melodramatic sigh and leaned back further in his chair as the silence stretched.

"It was early morning – I'd say around three, maybe four. Still dark, right? So I'm woken randomly by this blast of green light. Being my curious self, I get out of bed and go take a look – and there's the Dark Mark. And in the shadows of one of the shops opposite me, down a few doors, is a figure. It's a he; he's pretty lean and appears to be young. Dark hair. He's not facing me, but looking up at the Mark. There's a scream from someone, and he Dissapparates."

Harry frowned. Young? None of the Death Eaters were young. Well, Malfoy was, but he was reformed, and anyway, he was _blonde_.

But there was no young, dark Death Eater. Or was Voldemort recruiting from beyond the grave? It made no sense.

* * *

It's getting worse for poor Harry…please review! 


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks to all those who are reading and reviewing – to know this story is liked is wonderful!

* * *

He could hear birds. A sweet, shrill chirping. There was a bird in his hands; small with brown and white plumage, its bright eyes flicking in the half-light. It looked up at him, curious, as it struggled – he could feel the feathers against his cupped fingers. Small talons scratched on his skin as it became more frantic, the chirping increasing in pitch and frequency…

The image faded. He was standing at the end of a small driveway, walking up it towards the darkened house and the garden. Someone was standing there…as he came closer, he saw it was a woman – she looked maybe like Arabella Figg, who used ot live in Privet Drive – or it could have been Hestia Jones. She was looking at the stars with something in her hand…Harry tried to call out to her but couldn't. He had such a bad feeling about this; something wasn't right here. She was in danger – he was in danger – something was about to go horribly wrong.

There was a flash of light, he didn't know where from, and everything changed again…he was inside a house and heard a familiar high and cold laugh…there was a green light…and he saw his parents…

Harry woke immediately from the familiar nightmare of his parent's deaths, his scar prickling. He was lying on his bed, the blankets thrown to one side – and he was cold. He pulled the sheets back over himself – he must have thrown them off in the nightmare – and sighed, looking up to the ceiling and wondering why he was suddenly so awake. He watched the shadows above him and suddenly realised that he could see them in perfect clarity…and sure enough, reaching up to his face he pulled off his glasses and put them on the bedside table. He must have forgotten to take them off before bed…

He rolled over, closing his eyes as he brushed something soft from between his fingers.

Unseen by Harry, the feather fell to the floor in the moonlight.

* * *

He was woken the next morning by something hitting his face.

Opening his eyes to the blurred world, he struggled into a sitting position, grabbed his glasses and looked down at what had hit him – the morning's edition of the _Prophet_. He looked up, to see the person who had thrown it: Ginny. She was standing in the doorway looking troubled.

"Take a look."

Harry looked at her inquisitively, but she shook her head silently, so he looked at the front page. The headline immediately made his heart stop.

_DARK WIZARD ATTACK_

_Hestia Jones, well-known witch of London, was attacked last night by dark wizards or witches unknown. She reports her attacker entered her back garden silently in the early hours of the morning, Ms. Jones being awake and outside to study the stars on the clear night. Ms. Jones says the attacker came up behind her and attempted to curse her. _

_She speaks of the attack: "He crept up behind me real quiet-like, but I've got some years of experience behind me and I knew someone was there…"_

Harry kept reading, aghast, as various sentences leapt out at him. _'I'd say it was a young man'…unprovoked…'never been attacked like it before'…authorities suspect it could be the same person behind the Dark Mark's appearance a few days ago…Aurors are on the trail of escaped Death Eaters…strange occurrences…coincidence with the Dark mark's appearance…_

Harry put the paper down, frowning. Hestia Jones was attacked? And the Dark Mark's appearance, too? What did it all mean – was it escaped Death Eaters, was it coincidence – or was it something more sinister?

"Hestia…" Harry mused softly, as Ginny came and sat on the edge of his bed. "I think I might have dreamed about her."

Ginny stared at him. "What?"

"I think I saw her in my dreams…she was outside…that's all I remember. There was a bird, too…" Breaking out of his thoughts, Harry looked at Ginny, seeing the worried look on her face. "It might not have been her at all. I don't know; it's all hazy. Hey, come on Gin, it's nothing."

Ginny looked down, away from Harry's gaze. "Do you think you're seeing things again?"

Harry gently took her hand. "No. Those visions were through Voldemort. He's gone, Ginny. It was just coincidence."

* * *

A handsome tawny owl appeared during breakfast, swooping once around the table before landing on Harry's shoulder. He hastened to remove the loose scroll that had been tied to its leg, and it took off as soon as he had. Harry quickly unrolled the note and read it, recognising Mona's angled writing.

Harry – We need you to come to Hestia Jones' place, as no doubt you've heard what happened. We need all hands on deck today, and it's always good to get some field experience in early. Travel by Floo – Hestia's fireplace had been hooked up to the Floo Network today for the Ministry's use. See you as soon as you get here. Mona.

Beneath the note was Hestia's address.

"Mrs Weasley, do you have any Floo powder?"

"Of course, dear – do you need it?"

Harry explained where he was going as he finished eating. Hermione looked impressed and Ginny interested. Ron muttered something about Harry getting all the luck.

Twenty minutes later, Harry climbed out of Hestia Jones' fireplace, to find the house busy with Ministry members. There were people checking for hidden spells to catch Hestia unawares, Aurors checking the surroundings, and _Daily Prophet_ reporters skulking around and hoping for a breakthrough. Harry made his way through various people from various departments and out to the garden, where he could hear a semi-familiar voice.

"Ah! Harry!" Mark Abbeny saw him as soon as he stepped outside. "Bout time you got here," he added with a wink.

"Um, where is everybody?" Harry asked. Mark was the only Auror in the garden, even though Mona's note had made it sound like they were all around.

Mark ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, split up. Mona and Robards are combing the street, Dwalish is looking for a point of Apparation, and Williamson is talking to Hestia, I think. There are a few more around, but they're doing various things."

"What do you want me to do?"

"A crash course in some Auror work. You don't even know me, do you? I can see it in your eyes. Mark Abbeny," he added, and put out a hand, which Harry shook. "I haven't been the office much lately, been out on a tracking job. But we thought that today you would benefit form a bit of hands on experience. Now, do you know what I'm really good at?"

Harry recalled the conversation he had had with Mona. "Uh, Mona said something to me about finding magical residue or something?"

Mark looked momentarily surprised and them laughed. "It was meant to be a rhetorical question! But yeah, that's about it. I've got a knack for finding spell-work signatures. Whenever someone casts a spell, you leave a kind of mark behind, " he explained, seeing Harry's blank look. "In somewhere like, say, Hogwarts, it's everywhere…the place basically swimming in the stuff. But at most sites of Dark magic, you can find a point of incantation. It helps us figure out what went on."

Harry nodded. "So here, there will be a residue of any spells cast? And if we find them we can use it as information? Makes sense."

Mark nodded. "Now, I know where the point in the garden is. I found it already, and can tell you what spell it's for – or at least the family of spells. The question is, can you?"

Harry looked at him blankly. He had no idea where to start. Mark had obviously been expecting this, because he nodded enthusiastically and grinned.

"Okay. There aren't any spells you can cast to help, because that just gives you more residue to deal with. But you can feel it. It's like a kind of tingling…you just _know_. Try it, Harry."

Feeling slightly stupid Harry felt around him, looking for the 'tingle' Mark had mentioned. Part of him was consciously aware of what an idiot he must look like, and the other part of him was actually interested in the prospect of being able to sense magic like this. Dumbledore had done something like it once, when Harry had gone with him to the cave…he had found the entrance, saying the place had simply 'known magic'.

Mark was watching with a small smile. "You're feeling like an idiot, right? Don't worry about it – walk around, close your eyes if you wish – if you're looking for it, you'll find it."

Harry didn't reply, but began to walk around the small garden, intently aware for something; anything, which might be what Mark had described to him. He had been walking slowly for a while, when suddenly he stopped. Either he was searching for something so desperately his mind was playing tricks on him, or he could feel something near his left hand.

Experimentally, he moved his left hand more to the left, aware of Mark still watching him, and felt the feeling increase. It was between a slight warmth and prickle, almost like a light itching – but the more he moved his hand; the more he could feel it grow and fade. He looked up at Mark, who was grinning.

"Found it?"

"Yeah…" Harry's brow furrowed as he continued to move his hand away and towards the epicentre of magic. Mark came over to stand beside him.

"That's it. See how the feeling changes the further away you get? Here," he moved Harry's hand out and forward, "is the actual point of incantation, where the feeling is strongest. What family of spells, though?" He grinned again as Harry tried to guess. "There's a different way for working this out. Finding the point and finding the spell are different processes. Stand in the middle and close your eyes…let it come to you."

Harry did as he was instructed, feeling slightly less stupid as he had before. He closed his eyes and wondered if he would be able to do it at all, but as he concentrated on the magical residue, a spell – a curse – drifted into mind, along with a flicker of pain. Harry opened his eyes with a slight gasp.

"The Cruciatus Curse?"

Mark looked grimly pleased. "You learn fast. And yes, that was what I thought. Curses – and the Unforgivable Curses, at that – are easier to pick up on than some other things: Transfiguration magic's hard to work out. But as for us, we're dealing with one of the Death Eaters, I'd be willing to bet."

"Oh?" Said a new voice. "How much?"

Harry and Mark turned to find Williamson coming out of the back door of the house. He grinned in greeting as he walked over to them both, and behind him came a familiar figure: Hestia Jones.

"Harry!" She said brightly as she came over. Harry had not seen her properly since the fight three weeks ago, though he had glimpsed her at the numerous funerals that had taken place afterwards. She was still as pink-cheeked and black-haired as he remembered, even though some of the light was gone from her eyes – she looked more tired, older. Hestia pulled him into a loose hug. "It's been too long."

"Yeah, is has. How are you?"

She shrugged. "You mean apart from being attacked last night? Fine. I've just been telling – Williamson, was it? – what I saw. Not much," she said in response to Harry's unasked question. "Whoever it was was in the shadows, and I only got one spell cast before they Apparated the hell out of here. Don't even think I hit them. But from the description of the Dark Mark-caster that was published, I think it's the same person – a young man, dark hair, probably around your height, Harry."

"The Ministry's come to the same conclusion," Williamson said. "Two events like this so close together…someone's trying to induce fear. But we're sure many of the on-the-run Death eaters are out of the country in hiding. Still, any of them could have got back in somehow, or not left at all…still I wouldn't think they would come out so soon after You-Know-Who's defeat."

"Some of the Death Eaters aren't known for their tact," Harry pointed out, and the two Aurors nodded. Hestia sighed.

"Well, whatever it is, it's putting everyone into a panic. We don't need this right now," she added, looking at Harry meaningfully. "We're healing. Everyone is."

Harry nodded numbly. Who really wanted to think about what had been lost so suddenly – only to have that which survived it in danger again so soon? It brought up all the dormant thoughts of _what if_ – what if Voldemort had found a way to survive, just like after the first war? What if the Death Eaters were going to rebuild numbers and attack again? What of more died…what if, what if?

The rest of the day passed in a haze of work. Harry was taught many small things about working at the scene of Dark magic and a few tracking practices, before taking the Floo Network back to the Ministry where he and Williamson spent the rest of the day in discussion about advance defensive spells and Williamson taught him a few new tricks. By the time Harry was released, he was bruised and bleeding from numerous small grazes and looking forward to collapsing onto his bed.

Deciding not to Apparate back when he was so tired and distracted, he used the Floo Network again. Secretly, whenever he stepped into the characteristic green fire, he was reminded of his first use of the Network, and how he had not gone to Diagon Alley as was his intention, but had come out in Knockturn Alley instead…even though the experience had not been repeated, it was always at the front of his mind.

He climbed out of the fireplace and into the kitchen, warmed from the late afternoon sun. Pausing to brush ash from his clothes and poking a few of the deeper grazes experimentally to see how bad they were, Harry put down his bag and wondered where everyone was. He could hear voices coming from the garden.

"…I only just found it."

"Poor thing. Crookshanks must've got it."

Harry walked out of the back door and towards Hermione and Ginny, who were kneeling down over the edge of the garden and gently burying a small brown and white bird. "Hi. What are you doing?"

Both girls looked around. "Hi, Harry. We just found a bird Crookshanks caught, that's all." Ginny stood up, brushing dirt from her hands. "Harry – You're bleeding!"

"Oh…" Harry looked down at his grazes. "Yeah, Williamson was teaching me some defensive stuff, but that only works if one person is attacking…and he's good. I'm fine, really," He added, as Ginny's eyes narrowed and she looked scarily like Molly.

"Mum's got some potions that'll clean those up. How was Hestia?"

Harry told them about Hestia and what she had told him, and together the three of them walked back towards the house discussing the escaped Death Eaters and what could be going on. Harry's mind was only half on the various theories that the two girls were coming up with. The image of the dead bird kept coming back to him, but he had no idea why.

* * *

He's got no idea. Poor guy. I love him, really I do…but you wouldn't know it. Reviews are appreciated! Two seconds of your time makes my day! 


	5. Chapter 5

What can I do to our poor protagonist today? Big thanks to all those who have reviewed, favourited or put this story on alert. It means a lot to me, really it does.

Disclaimer: _Accio Harry Potter Ownership!_ ... ... ... ... Damn.

* * *

The week got no better.

Every night there was another strange occurrence – attacks on Sturgis Podmore and Dedalus Diggle; both members of the Order of the Phoenix, the Dark Mark appearing with no one in the area dead, more partial sightings of the same character: a young-ish man with dark hair of medium height. No one ever saw his face clearly, and it was the opinion of many that it was a Death Eater taking revenge for his fallen Master.

There was a breakthrough a few days after Hestia Jones's attacks – the _Daily Prophet_ was pleased to announce the Auror Office's capture of two of the on-the-run Death Eaters: Crabbe and Goyle. It hadn't been too hard, Harry was told by Williamson, who, along with Dwalish, had been the one who brought them in.

"They weren't exactly trying to hard to hide, you know? And we've had genuine reported sightings of them for a while – we just needed to close in. They didn't really try to fight – apparently Crabbe's son died in the war, and he's been broken about it since."

"He was killed by fiendfyre. I was there," Harry said quietly.

Williamson grimaced. "Sorry. Was he a friend?"

"Not exactly," Harry replied grimly. "He was in my year but not what you'd call a friend. He was a sort-of bodyguard figure for Draco Malfoy."

Williamson nodded. "Well, according to what we got out of Goyle – thanks to Veritaserum and between the grunts – apparently his son's death shocked him to the core and he's been being more reckless than usual as of late."

The Auror Office was snowed under, trying to add up the facts and come to a sensible solution. Harry was still being trained, but was now taken out more, to be trained in the field. He spent his time doing everything from running errands all over the Ministry for various Aurors to talking to magical residents of the areas of the attacks. Williamson taught him more defensive and offensive magic when he had a chance and was in the Ministry, and if Mona wanted a break from her pile of desk work she would take the time to teach Harry more about potions, poisons and antidotes – and, of course, discuss the current goings on.

Harry himself was finding it harder and harder to get out of bed each morning. Through the days he felt drained and completely exhausted, finding it hard to concentrate. Any moment he found himself alone or at his desk or on a break, he began to fall asleep…only to be woken moments later as his head slipped from his hand (once onto the desk, which resulted in some particularly choice swear words which impressed Mona).

Harry just couldn't understand it. He went to be each night at least at a semi-reasonable time, had strange dreams and visions, woke and felt more shattered than he had the night before. This persistent tiredness was making him lash out accidentally at those around him more often, for which he was sorry but couldn't seem to help it. He had to be careful to keep his temper under control. He knew the others at the Burrow had noticed, but no one had mentioned anything to him, presumably fearing an angry outburst in response. But there were other things, things that those in the house didn't know that worried him more.

His scar was hurting again. Every morning he woke with it prickling, like he had so much in the recent years. It was a persistent ache throughout the day, and he often rubbed it absentmindedly to try and rid himself of the pain. He had been having nightmares, yes, but were they enough to make his scar hurt like this? Some of his older dreams – like the night his parents died and the graveyard in his fourth year – had returned to him, as had newer ones of Voldemort in general and the final battle gone wrong.

But the other dreams scared him more than those nightmares, if that was possible. As he had on the morning after Hestia's attack, Harry would wake with a partial knowledge of what would be on the front cover of the _Daily Prophet_. The night he dreamed of the Dark Mark, it appeared. He dreamed of an attack in a garden and read about Hestia the next morning. And now he had dreamed of the Mark, or saw a figure followed and attacked, and woke up with a foreboding feeling; hoping it wasn't true and it was just coincidence, that his dreams were being influenced by recent events.

But he would read the front page of the morning's _Prophet_ and feel his heart freeze.

He didn't tell anyone about this. It was the last thing they needed: to be worried about him – as if they weren't enough already, no matter how they tried to hide it – and having these vision surely wasn't a good sign. They would probably have him sent off to St Mungo's or something.

Then came the morning Harry awoke to find himself lying on the floor.

_Outside_ his bedroom.

He sat up and looked around, confused. He was lying on the landing of the second floor of the Burrow. How the hell had he got here? He had gone to bed _in bed_…was he sleepwalking or something? Merlin's beard, this was the last thing he needed to worry about. Was it stress or something, which had caused him to develop a sleepwalking habit so rapidly? Was this the reason he was tired all the time – he was walking in his sleep?

Standing quietly and praising the fact no one else was awake, Harry quietly walked back to his bedroom and slipped inside, closing the door with a soft snap. He sat on his bed and ran a hand through his hair…and touched the frame of his glasses. He had put them back on in his sleep? Impressive – and very strange.

Harry put a hand beneath his glasses and pressed his eyes. Could he remember anything, any of his dreams, any fragments? After a moment of careful concentration, the Dark Mark swam before his eyes, in all its green-starred glory. Not again…he hoped with all his being it was just another current-event induced dream, but he knew in his heart what the front-page story of the _Prophet_ this morning would be…

And sure enough, when it came, he was right.

"Another Dark Mark," Hermione sighed as she threw the paper onto the table, before going to sit next to Ron, who was halfway through breakfast. She stole a slice of toast from his plate and continued talking, ignoring his murderous look. "There's no point to these."

"It's fear-mongering," Ginny said from her place next to Harry. She looked at him out the corner of her eye – he was pale and half asleep. Frowning slightly, Ginny reached out and grasped his hand underneath the table. He jumped at her unexpected touch, and turned to her to give her a weary smile.

"Sorry, Gin. What were you saying?"

"Just saying the Dark Mark's fear-mongering…are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." It was the reply he always gave, even though she had stopped believing him days ago. There was something wrong here; they all could see it.

It was right then, looking at his pale face and hearing his lie, that Ginny decided to get to the bottom of it. She couldn't bear to see him going through this alone…it was, of course, a very Harry thing to do, but that didn't make it right. She was going to make him talk.

So when he went upstairs to finish getting ready before reporting for training, she followed him. Standing silently in the doorway for a moment, she watched him: his movements were slow and unenergetic, the movements of someone who has just come home from a long day – not one who has only just woken up.

"Harry?"

He turned sharply at his name to face her, surprised. "Ginny! Merlin's beard, you gave me a fright."

"Sorry." She smiled apologetically at him, before walking into the small room to sit on the edge of his bed. He came and sat next to her, smiling tiredly like he did all the time, now. She hoped he would answer her properly if they were alone. "Harry, are you feeling okay? You look exhausted."

"Yeah, fine."

She stared hard at him. "We've been through so much together and I've known you long enough to know you're lying."

He avoided her eyes, and she knew for certain she was right. "Harry, what is it you can't tell me? What's up with you lately?"

He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "It's…nothing, Gin. Really."

She took his hand. The touch brought his gaze back to her. "Harry, please, tell me."

He sighed. This, Ginny knew, was a good sign. It usually meant he was about to say something he didn't want to.

"I don't know what's happening to me. I'm not sleeping properly – I wake up more exhausted than when I went to sleep – and I dream…these horrible nightmares, of everything that's happened: the graveyard, the night my parents died, the battle. But it's worse than that…" He looked up at her, his eyes silently pleading. "Ginny, what I'm about to tell you, you can't tell anyone else. I don't know how they'd react."

She nodded, now seriously worried. What could he be about to say?

"The recent attacks…I think I've been dreaming of them. I have these strange, fragmented dreams, see things that are only slightly recognisable – and then it's in the _Prophet_ the next morning. I've seen the Dark Mark each time it appeared. I saw someone attacked in a garden, a woman – and then Hestia's attacked. It's happened with Dedalus and Sturgis, too…" Harry put his head in his hands. "I don't know what's happening to me."

Ginny bit her lip. Surely this was just coincidence – Harry was having strange dreams and subconsciously connecting them to things he read? Was his mind just searching out meaning that wasn't there? Merlin knows she had dreamt of the Dark Mark recently too, it having been in the news so much…

"Harry, it'll just be coincidence. Your mind's overtired, it's trying to make sense of things that aren't there." She squeezed his hand gently, grateful that the pressure was returned.

"I'm worried about myself. I'm more tired than ever, and I know I'm taking it out on you guys, and I'm sorry. It's almost as if I feel less like myself at the moment…or something. And my scar's hurting again."

"It is?" Ginny's voice was soft and concerned. _This_ wasn't good – Harry's scar only hurt in specific circumstances…but Voldemort was gone. He had died – they had all seen it, in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. He had fallen, finally… "But he's gone."

"I know, I know. But I keep waking up with it prickling, like it used to…"

Ginny frowned thinking. What had Harry said before about nightmares? "Could it be connected to the nightmares you've been having? Not the vision-type ones, but your – dare I say it – more _usual_ ones?"

"Usual nightmares, that's a laugh," said Harry grimly. "But I see what you mean. And I suppose it could…" He sighed. "I just don't know, Gin. But no one else knows – you don't need to be worrying about me right now. Hestia said to me when I saw her; _'We don't need this right now. We're healing. Everyone is.'_ She's right. I don't want anyone else to be on my case when you should be looking after yourselves."

Ginny smiled at him and brushed his hair back from his face. "Stupid and noble, that's you. Stupid and noble as always."

Harry smiled at her. "I think that's a compliment?"

"It is. And I won't tell the others – but you should. They're just as worried as me, and have noticed that something's wrong, just as I have." She kissed him on the cheek. "Shouldn't you be going into the Ministry?"

Harry swore and looked at his watch. "I'm not late yet, thank Merlin, but I probably would have been had you not reminded me. And thanks, Gin. It's a bit of a relief to say this to someone, to tell the truth." He stood up and pulled her up off the bed, and into his arms, hugging her tightly. It was the times like this that he was thankful to have her by his side – really, truly thankful.

Ginny pulled out of his embrace and put her arms around Harry's neck. "You'll be okay, Harry. This will all pass – the Aurors will catch whoever's responsible, things will go back to normal, you'll start sleeping better and you'll feel better when you do."

"Yeah, Gin. I know."

"And until you do, we'll all be here looking after you. Okay?"

"Okay, _Mum_." He grinned as she hit him playfully.

He gave her another kiss and left, vanishing down the stairs with a call of farewell. Ginny sat back down on his bed, thinking about what he had said to her. It worried her more than she let on – well, of course it would! If Harry was suddenly having these visions, if that's what they really were: if they really _were _visions of the dark magic occurrences that had been happening, then what did that mean?

Was it possible that Voldemort wasn't as gone as everyone thought – and that Harry was seeing this through the link they shared, like he had done for the past few years? Was Voldemort fear-mongering in the shadows, and Harry seeing it all?

Or was it something completely different again?

Ginny sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Whatever it was, it was taking its toll on the Boy Who Lived. And Harry, out of everyone, didn't need this so soon after the war's end. No one did, but surely Harry had been through so much that he deserved some peace?

* * *

Aw, my poor Harry. How I love to torment you...

Reviews make me smile - go on, two seconds of your time means the world to me!


	6. Chapter 6

Another chapter, another chance to further wreck Harry's life!

So much thanks must go out to those who have sent me reviews for this story. I'm so glad you like it! (And to those who read and don't review...oh, come on! You know you want to press that little purple button!).

* * *

Harry got to the Ministry with a few minutes to spare. Lucky Ginny had reminded him, or he would have been late. Privately, he didn't think anyone would care usually, but with the Ministry as paranoid and uptight as it was at the moment he didn't want to tempt fate. All Robards needed was a reason to yell at someone, and he would. Yesterday he had taken his pent-up frustration out of Mark Abbney for no apparent reason…and Harry, as the newest recruit, didn't want to be next.

Mona was sitting at her desk, the _Daily Prophet_ spread before her. On her wall there was a new scrap of parchment – a tally, which she had been jokingly keeping of all the Dark magic going on. She had an under-the-table bet going with Mark over how much would happen before the culprit was caught. She still had a few days left.

Next to the tally was a map everyone – including Harry – had a copy of. It was an intricately detained map of London and the surrounding areas, with bright red points to indicate the sight of a Dark Mark or attack. There was the general theory that the attacks had to have a pattern or something, and so the maps had been made for visual reference – not that anyone had had a brainwave as of yet.

Mona looked up over the cubicle wall as Harry dumped his bag down. "Hi, Harry. Guess what's happened now…" She motioned to the paper before her.

"Hey, Mona. Yeah, I saw. Any progress?"

She rolled her eye. "Robards and Mark have gone off to the Mark's site, Williamson's checking up on a reported Death Eater sighting…everyone else is trying to work this all out…and I'm not training you today."

Harry was surprised. "Am I going out again?"

"Nah," Mona shook her head. "With everything that's going on there's been a little change of plans concerning you and your training. Robards thinks – and I agree with him, for once – that while you're here in the Ministry you should be concentrating on offensive and defensive skills. With what's going on, you're likely to need them…" Mona sighed and scrunched up a piece of parchment, flicking it into the cubicle on the other side of her, away from Harry.

There was an indignant "Oi! Mona!" from the other side, and after a moment the head of an Auror appeared. She was younger than Mona but at least eight or nine years older than Harry, with bright eyes and short, spiky dark scarlet hair. Harry had seen her during his time here but never talked to her before – the Aurors were in and out of the office so much it was almost impossible to tell how many of them there really were…but he was sure he had seen her before coming to the Ministry. She grinned at him, recognising him instantly, and Harry was suddenly and painfully reminded of Nymphadora Tonks.

"Harry, this is Nolana Savage."

Nolana stretched her hand out over the top of the cubicle wall, but couldn't reach Harry. Grinning, she instead moved out of her workspace to lean on the dividing wall between Mona and Harry's cubicles. Harry looked at her, thinking. Savage…somewhere in his memory, he was sure Tonks had mentioned an Auror called Savage.

"Call me Nola, if you want," she said brightly to Harry as she shook his hand, and he noticed she had a soft Irish accent.

"Nolana, did Robards talk to you?" Mona asked her. Nola screwed up her face in thought for a moment, running her fingers through the short spikes that made up her hair.

"Yeah, I think he did. We going to do it today?"

Mona nodded. "No time like the present…especially since this 'present' is what it is. Robards thinks Harry needs to work on offensive and defensive practices, but Williamson's out of the Office."

Nola seemed to pick up on some hidden message that was lost to Harry, because she grinned and nodded. "Yeah, sure – come on, Harry. Mona, we'll be in Hall Five."

Confused, Harry was led away from Mona – from familiarity – and down the same hall with all the impossibly adjoining rooms – the 'Kitchen', the 'Arena' – what was Hall Five? And what was he being trained, and why did it matter that Williamson wasn't here?

Nola pushed the door open and stood back so Harry could enter first. Inside was a wide room – about the size of the History of Magic classroom at Hogwarts – which was almost completely…bare. One wall was covered in floor to ceiling mirrors, the light was soft and even, and the floor was matting of some kind. Harry turned to Nola, who was leaning by the now closed door. She noticed him watching. "What?"

"You remind me of someone. Another Auror." When she looked at him quizzically he elaborated. "Nymphadora Tonks."

"Oh, Tonks!" Nola laughed. "I knew her. She was a few years younger than me at Hogwarts – and in a different house, I was in Ravenclaw – and I knew her here, of course." She looked past Harry, lost in memory for a moment, before saying softly, "I was so sad to hear she had died in the war." Her eyes flicked back to Harry. "You knew her?"

"Both her and her husband were close friends of mine…he was a best friend of my Dad's, and I met her through Dumbledore." Strictly this was true, as Harry wasn't sure how many people knew about the Order, even now. He smiled faintly. "They even named me Godfather of their son, Teddy."

Nola smiled sadly. "I heard through one of the numerous grapevines that she was pregnant. Her poor child."

"He's with her mother, Andromeda. He'll be fine." Harry said the words to reassure himself as much as her. Poor Teddy, alone in the world…like him, he supposed. An orphan before he knew anything – how to speak, walk…

Silence descended, both lost in their own thoughts, before Nola shook herself out of it.

"Aurors need many different skills," she started as she walked to the centre of the floor. "Some of these are more unorthodox than others. One which is not seen as vital – but has saved lives before, believe me – is physical training. Seriously," she added, seeing the look on Harry's face. "Physical fitness is important. Sometimes we need to run down people…but the times it comes into the most use is when you get disarmed in a fight. With no wand, you can only rely on yourself."

Harry nodded. It made sense – in the graveyard, years ago, his Quidditch reflexes had saved him; so why should it be any different here, in similar situations?

She threw him a set of light fighting-style robes. "Go put those on, and we'll get started."

* * *

Harry was pleased when he finally got back to the Burrow, after Apparating painfully (he made a mental not never to Apparate when his muscles were stiff; it was far more uncomfortable than normal). He limped up the path and towards the kitchen beside Arthur, his only thought to get through to the living room and sit down. He was sure that by now he had strained and stretched more muscles than he knew – or thought – he had. Ginny heard her father open the door and come through to see them, hugging them both. Harry groaned slightly as she did so, and she drew back, confused.

"What's wrong?"

"Today was hard…I'm so sore! We were doing physical training," Harry explained lightly.

"Aurors do physical training?" Ginny echoed, surprised.

Harry nodded. "It's a little known fact. It's unarmed fighting stuff, for when there are Muggles around or we get disarmed. Most wizards see it as pointless, even the Hit Wizards and a few of the Aurors, but Nola said that it's saved more lives than one might think."

"Nola?" Ginny asked eagerly.

"The Auror who trained me. She reminds me of Tonks…Merlin knows I need a shower," Harry said, changing the subject. He didn't want to think about the dead right now. "But after that I should be fine."

Ginny nodded. "I'll give you a neck massage later, if you want."

Harry sighed in thankfulness and put an arm around her waist. "You're an angel, Gin."

He left her in the living room, where she sat down next to Hermione who was reading, as usual. If Hermione wasn't reading, Ron would say, then something was vitally wrong with the world or her. Ginny winked at Harry and began reading over Hermione's shoulder; which she knew annoyed the older witch. Hermione would put up with it for as long as possible before getting the hint and engaging the youngest Weasley in conversation. That, or Ron would come to her rescue by offering a few games of Wizard Chess to Ginny, like he did now.

"Hey, mate," he said by way of a greeting to Harry, who waved at them both and vanished up the stairs. Ron looked to Ginny, who shrugged.

"Shower. He's been doing physical training all day at the Department."

Ron's eyebrows rose so they were in danger of vanishing into his hair. "_Physical_ training? Like, fitness, and fighting? Why bother? We're wizards."

Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes at one another. Boys, _honestly_. "What if you have to run to pursue someone?" Ginny asked Ron.

"Or get disarmed in a fight?" Hermione put in, joining in as Ron's face reddened.

"Or you get his wand but he attacks you, so neither of you have one?"

"Or there are Muggles around?"

"Or you can only rely on your own physical skills for some reason?"

"Or…"

"Okay!" Ron held up his hands in defeat. "I get it, I get it…" With Harry upstairs and both his parents in the kitchen, he was outnumbered two to one by females. And intelligent females at that. Granted, he loved both of them dearly, but the sooner Harry was back to restore the balance, the better.

* * *

Harry couldn't believe he had never viewed hot water as a miracle before now. Standing beneath the jet of water and letting it cascade over his tired body, Harry felt the tension fade from his shoulders and neck. He gave them a hard rub with his fingertips to help loosen them up. Although the logical voice in the back of his head told him he should be trying to remember the techniques and sequences Nola had taught him, and that he had to do some of the more specific sequences before bed to help him discipline his body, Harry pushed them out of his mind.

Nola reminded him of Tonks. She had said they were at Hogwarts together and at the Office together…and Nola would have fought in the battles during the war. That must have been where Harry had seen her before and why he had first thought she was slightly familiar…she would have been there when Dumbledore died – Tonks _had_ mentioned a 'Savage' was stationed at Hogwarts…and she would have been there in the final fight…

Harry sighed as he pushed a piece of stray wet hair out of his eyes. So many had died…the pain would never go away. It would ease, in time, maybe…but the grief would remain always…Harry wondered, fleetingly, how his godson was. Merlin's beard…even the _thought_ felt weird. He was a godfather…and not even eighteen. And Teddy was an orphan and not even one…

With that burning thought, Harry shut the water off and wrapped a towel around himself as he stepped out of the shower. He stood for a moment, resting his hands on the sink, his head bowed. He had never really thought about what had happened…but he didn't want to, either. People had died. Lives had been changed. The world had become a better place.

Or had it?

All the things that had been happening lately, the attacks and Dark Marks…were they signs? Was it only a matter of time before someone decided to step up to the now empty position of 'Evil Dark Wizard' and a new Voldemort appeared? A matter of time before the peace shattered and another war started?

Harry ran a hand over his face, before stretching his arms out wide in an attempt to make his shoulders and neck feel better. He opened his eyes are stared into the mirror above the basin, but his reflection was blurred because he wasn't wearing his glasses, and it was foggy from the steam in the room.

Immediately he snatched up his glasses and looked at his reflection again, carefully examining his eyes. Green – like his mother's – as the usually were. But there had been a moment, as he looked at his blurred reflection, when they had been not green, but red. Red like…

No. No, he wasn't going to think like that. It had been a trick of the light or a trick of his tired mind. Just a trick.

* * *

NECK MASSAGES ARE MADE OF WIN! You know I'm right.

Oh, life just isn't getting better for poor Harry, is it? And I know a few people have pointed out his utter cluelessness in this matter, but that's just the way it's happening. He's so sure it's all in his head...side effects from exhaustion and stress, not to mention grief. The last thing he wants to think about is that the evil he fought - and defeated - has returned. Poor young man. I'm so mean to him!

Now, remember the purple button?

You must press the purple button. If you don't the universe may implode.


	7. Chapter 7

Apologies. For the last three weeks my life and time has been taken up with a performance of _Les Miserables_ that I was in. We had a total sell-out season, standing ovations every night, an amazing cast, and now it's over and my life seems rather empty…

…_do you hear the people sing?_

* * *

Harry was drenched in sweat. He was in Hall Five with Nolana, who was putting him through his paces. He had spent the last fifteen minutes doing various stretches to warm up and Nola was now making him run lengths of the hall. The purpose of a warm up was to get warm – and he was already! Harry was sure Nola liked to put him through this just because she could.

He met her in the centre of the hall, and they began to spar. It was a one sided contest, really. Harry had barely any idea what he was doing, acting mostly on instinct, vague memories of what he had been taught already and desperate attempts to stop himself getting pummelled. He'd had enough of that from Dudley in his childhood, thank you. Nola was a teach-by-example person, and was correcting his execution of a particular kick when there was a hurried knock on the door

Williamson came in. "We've had a sighting of Antonin Dolohov," he said with no preamble. "And we're going after him. Get changed and get out here, both of you." He was gone in a swish of red robes.

"Dolohov?" echoed Harry. He felt his heart freeze. Dolohov had been at the Battle of Hogwarts, he had been responsible for the death of…

"What is it?" asked Nola, noticing the sudden anger in his eyes.

"Dolohov killed a _very_ dear friend of mine in the war. Tonks' husband, Remus Lupin."

Nola put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't let this turn into a revenge mission, Harry. It's just our job."

Under two minutes later, Harry and Nola, now dressed in their usual clothing and not the training robes, joined Mona and Williamson, who were waiting for them.

"He was seen by a resident witch, who contacted us straight away. She saw Dolohov before a big, abandoned house with his wand out, and then he vanished."

"Disapparated?" Nola queried. If Dolohov had Disapparated away, they couldn't find him.

"No, from her description it sounded like a protection enchantment." Williamson ran a hand through his ponytail. "Sounds like he's intending to stay for a while."

"So how do we get through?" Harry asked, remembering the enchantments Hermione used on their campsite during the previous year.

"There are spells," Williamson replied. "Powerful ones, that aren't meant to be used without permission – which we have. Only a handful of people know them correctly, and they're hard to use – it's easier to wait until the protection enchantments are lifted or something."

He looked around the three of them. "Come on. We're Apparating to a place called Little Hangleton."

* * *

The darkness gave way, and the pressure on Harry's chest eased as he Apparated just inside the edge of a very familiar place. The graveyard was more overgrown than it had been when he was last here, almost three years ago. Harry took a moment to look around it; the memories of that night still clear in his mind. There was where the cauldron had stood, that clear space was where he had duelled with Voldemort, Cedric had died here and the Triwizard cup – along with its promise of escape – had lain beside that gravestone.

His eyes fell on the gravestone where he had been tied. There stood a giant statue of Death – with huge, widely spread and finely detailed wings, and a scythe raised in one hand. His cloak swept down the low plinth the tombstones stood upon, and was draped – it was hard to believe it was made out of concrete and not fabric. It was a work of art – the beautiful curves of the robe, the individually tooled feathers of the wings – but to Harry it was something from nightmare.

It was here he had been bound and forced to watch Voldemort's rebirth…watch his nightmare come to life. Subconsciously, he left along his right forearm – the cut, made by Wormtail to get his blood – was now healed to a very fine scar, but it was still visible. His sacrifice, his part in Voldemort's rebirth, was still visible…

"What is it?" Nola asked as she walked up beside him, noticing his far-away look.

"This was where I saw Voldemort reborn, three years ago," Harry replied quietly. "When no one believed me."

Nola swore softly, as Williamson hissed over to both of them. "No time for talk! We've got to get Dolohov."

Harry, immediately remembering why they were there – how could he have forgotten? – moved over with Nola to crouch beside Williamson and Mona. Dolohov had been spotted in the area…and how appropriate, Harry thought bitterly, for Dolohov to return to his fallen Master's old (very old) family home. Dolohov had been seen going into the manor itself, and so while Harry had been reminiscing Mona and Williamson had done the first and most important thing – cast and Anti-Disapparation Jinx over the house. Dolohov was trapped inside – now they just had to find him.

"Plan of action," Williamson whispered, "is simple. Mona will stay out here and enchant the outside of the house against escape, putting out charms in under his. The front door, where Dolohov was seen, will stay _uncharmed_, so we have a route of escape ourselves. Mona will stay on guard outside."

"Dolohov's enchantments?" Nolana whispered.

"Can be broken by me," Mona said, her mouth in a thin-lipped determined smile. "I know a few tricks."

"Ready?" Williamson directed his question mostly at Harry, who nodded. "Then let's go." He nodded at Mona.

Mona pointed her wand towards the house. Making a complicated movement with it, she whispered something Harry didn't hear, and he saw a patch of air shimmer slightly. She sat for a few seconds with her eyes closed. "It's holding. His charms are broken…disillusion yourselves people – the last thing we want is for him to spot us running up."

Together, the three Aurors and one Auror-in-training disillusioned themselves (Williamson did Harry, who didn't oppose the move – he knew the theory but not the practice) and ran lightly to the edge of the graveyard. Harry was sure he was going to bump into someone as they ran, but didn't. He tried not to look at his hands as he ran – seeing them change, as if invisible, was disturbing.

"Okay," Williamson said, removing the charms with a wave of his own wand. "We're going in."

Harry nodded determinedly. Surely this wouldn't be any harder than anything else he had done…still, Dolohov was dangerous…and although he'd never admit it to it, he was terrified.

Williamson silently opened the door, using the ever-useful _Alohomora_ charm, and the three of them slipped inside. The entrance hallway was covered in dust more than an inch thick, and the air was close. It was deathly silent, until Williamson called out, his voice magically amplified. It was so sudden he made Harry jump.

"Dolohov! This is the Auror Office. You're captive in this house and under arrest. Come quietly or we _will_ fight."

There was silence for a moment, before a rasping laugh reached them, the volume magnified in the same magical way. "Like hell, Auror."

Williamson nodded at Nola and Harry. "Call if you find him or need help." He gave Harry a wink. "Spread out."

Williamson crept up the stairs and out of sight, as Nola went through a door to the left. Harry took a breath and went through an open door to his right. He tried to move as silently as possible, but he was sure his breathing and heartbeat would give his position away. He was also sure that Dolohov would be lying in wait for him around the next corner…

But Harry's journey through the house was uneventful. He stopped every time he heard movement, but it never came to any exciting or terrifying outcome. He was alert for any sign of disturbed dust or signs of habitation as he crept along the old passages. Even though this was both serious and important, Harry couldn't help wondering about the old Riddle family who used to live here…

What were they like? Did they have any idea what kind of person their descendant would be? What did they think, when a young man turned up and said he was Tom Riddle's son – did they realise they would not live out the night? Did they realise their death when the young Voldemort entered the room? Did Tom Riddle Senior ever think about the fact he would have a child somewhere? And did he see himself in his son?

Harry paused to run his fingertips lightly over the edge of a dusty portrait in a hallway. They came away thick with dust, and Harry flicked his eyes up to the subjects of the painting. The family depicted there – a mother, father, and young, dark haired boy – all looked haughty and arrogant, even in painted form. Harry turned away and returned to the task at hand.

* * *

Ten minutes later, ten minutes of creeping and stealthy trying not to make noise, Harry heard footsteps in the next room and spun around to point his wand – at Nola. She was a mirror image of his position: wand out, ready to attack. She immediately lowered her wand when she saw it was him and not Dolohov.

"Merlin's beard, Harry, you gave me such a fright!"

"Likewise," Harry whispered back.

Nola grinned fleetingly. "Any sign of Dolohov?"

Harry shook his head. As he did so, there was a roar form the floor above, accompanied by a call from Williamson.

"Here! Above, north side!"

Nola and Harry moved as one, bolting through the dust up the stairs and towards the sounds of Dolohov's rasping voice. Dolohov's eyes widened as Harry entered the small room. "Why, it's everyone's favourite hero. Well, Potter? Still playing games?"

Harry knew Dolohov was trying to provoke him, so stayed silent as he took up a position to one side of Williamson. Dolohov looked slowly between the three of them, weighting up his chances. For a tense moment, the three wizards and one witch stood perfectly still…then all moved at once.

As one, those form the Auror Office cast Stunners at Dolohov. The three red jets of light flew at him and he dived out of the way, managing to cast a quick shield charm that deflected one of the Stunners into a bookcase near Nola. She, along with Williamson and Harry, hit the ground too, diving for cover behind dusty bookshelves and chairs.

For the next few minutes it was like something from the war. Spells flew thick and fast around the ancient room, until Harry could only identify his own among the smoke and debris. The decades of thick dust were stirred up, and between that and the various destruction being wrought on the room by deflected and wayward spells, it was all too familiar – it was like being back in the halls of Hogwarts during the final battle that night.

Harry flicked a disarming charm towards Dolohov, hoping to catch him off guard, but he saw it coming at deflected it. It hit Nola instead, and her wand flew out of her grasp and towards Dolohov. Williamson, thinking quickly in the heat of battle, summoned it over to him instead and he threw it back to her. The exchange couldn't have taken more than six or seven seconds.

Dolohov seized the distraction it gave to attempt a curse at Williamson, but the experienced Auror managed to barely deflect it, and the icy blue jet of light hit Harry instead, who wasn't been quick enough.

It had been cast non-verbally – Harry had no idea what it was. All he knew was it was like an extremely painful electric shock that threw him across the room and into one of the dusty bookcases. He fell heavily to the floor, along with many dislodged books, and did not move.

"Harry!" Nola shot Harry's prone body a worried glance. She had no time to worry – nor did Williamson – Dolohov's confidence had been renewed now one of his adversaries was down, and his spell-casting was as fast as ever.

His focus was on the two still-standing Aurors on one side of the room, and he did not see the other curse until it hit him in the ribs. Surprised, Dolohov stood for a split second before hitting the ground heavily, falling so hard he opened a gash in his head.

On the other side of the room, stood Harry. Wand outstretched and eyes fixed on his now harmless quarry, there was something different about him. He was standing to his full height, straighter, head tilted slightly to the side. Williamson and Nola could both see something in his eyes – coldness, deadly calm, ruthlessness. Where had that come from? The cold eyes, the merciless and sudden spell casting…they had never seen the usually warm and light-hearted young man look so…_evil_. If they hadn't known better, they would have been sure it was a different person.

"Harry?" Williamson approached him cautiously. How had he recovered so quickly? Maybe he was so used to being knocked around he had built up fast recovery skills? Merlin knows the young man had been through so much…Harry turned to look at him slowly as Williamson approached, and just before Harry blinked in the same measured way his turn had been, the older Auror thought he saw a flash of red. But then he was looking at Harry, the green eyes tired and pained, as the young man leaned back against the bookcase, breathing heavily. "That was amazing…what was that?"

Harry shrugged, and then grimaced in pain. "I…I don't know. Instinct?" He laughed warmly, and Williamson felt his concern melt away. "I don't even remember standing up…must've acted without thinking."

"Whatever it was, he's down and it's thanks to you."

Harry nodded as Williamson moved to check Dolohov with Nola.

He didn't remember standing up, or casting a spell. The last thing he remembered was that he had been hit with a curse – one that hurt like hell – and been thrown across the room. Then he was standing here.

How could he do something so extreme and not even remember? It must have been the adrenalin, Harry decided. The adrenalin helped him recover quickly and his instinct cast a spell at Dolohov…but he couldn't remember which one. And why had Williamson looked so momentarily worried – almost scared – as he came over? Harry shook his head.

He didn't care; it didn't matter, not now. All he wanted now was a pain-relieving potion and some rest.

* * *

Our plot thickens, our hero thinks he's going mad.

Excellent.

…_singing the songs of angry men_…Les Mis is made of pure awesomeness. (I wonder if one can make a Harry Potter version thereof? Oh, god, I did NOT just say that…I blame sleep deprivation…)


	8. Chapter 8

Well, look at what I found! I suppose I should thank both the television (_Chamber of Secrets_ was on TV tonight) and my flatmates (my boyfriend and one of my best friends) for encouraging me to get on with this. The past year's been pretty close to hell, but now I've got a bit of time.

88

Ten minutes later, after Mona had removed the enchantments from around the Riddle House, all the Aurors had assembled outside (along with the magically captured and restrained Dolohov, who was only half-conscious). They were awaiting a team of Ministry Hit Wizards, who would transfer Dolohov to a maximum-security cell in Azkaban, where he would spend the rest of his life.

Williamson and Nola, along with Harry (who personally thought he wasn't much help), had come to the conclusion that the spell of Harry's that had defeated Dolohov was either a _very_ strong stunner, or from a family of immobilising or sleep spells. Harry couldn't remember what spell it even was; he could only half remember casting it. This scared him more than he cared to admit – and something told him he should be glad he hadn't accidentally used an Unforgivable. Either way, it didn't matter now. Dolohov was currently under a charm of Williamson's that made him sleepy and disorientated. It was, Harry was told, a standard Auror-use spell he'd be taught at a later date.

On the subject of spells, Harry had sat down as soon as he was able to. He was sitting on the steps of the Riddle house, leaning on one of the pillars that framed the covered entrance, and trying to lessen the throbbing pain in his head and body. Mona, being the one with the most magical medical knowledge, had briefly checked him over when he had come out (half-leaning on Nova). She hadn't been able to identify the spell from his description, but had offered to take him to St Mungo's after Dolohov had been taken care of.

At first, Harry had hesitated – honestly, how many time had he been injured in his life, how many nights had he spend in the hospital wing? – he didn't want to cause trouble or cause for worry, but Williamson had stepped in and told him to go.

"You've got to get yourself checked," he had said. "Especially if Mona can't identify it…and Mark's not here, as he's the other one who could probably help. That spell could have done anything to you."

So Harry had conceded, and was now awaiting the arrival of the Hit Wizards so he could get to St Mungo's and get back to the offices, where he could probably get away with doing almost nothing. That, or be sent back to the Burrow, which was preferable.

There was a movement on the other of the graveyard, near the cover of the trees. Harry looked up, and saw a group of Wizards approaching them through the tombstones. They were all in identical dark blue robes, and at their head was Kingsley Shacklebolt and some of his underlings from the Ministry.

He greeted them all formally, and congratulated them on their capture. As Dolohov was handed over to the team of Hit Wizards in his enchanted state (although Williamson would travel with the entourage, as was protocol), Kingsley came closer to the other three Aurors, his own entourage in his wake. "Alright?"

Mona nodded. "Fine, Minister. This one," she clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, who winced. "Oh, sorry Harry – this one needs a quick check at St Mungo's."

Kingsley gave Harry a fleeting wink, unseen by the other Ministry officials. "Should've known you would be the one who needed the Healers."

Harry ginned despite the pain he felt. "Dolohov hit me with a cruse of some kind – Merlin knows what, but it hurt like hell and threw me back hard. Williamson said I should get checked out, just in case."

Kingsley nodded. "And right he is."

Mona, who had been watching over the progress of Williamson and the Hit Wizards over Kingsley's shoulder, nodded slightly as Williamson flashed her a thumbs up. "Looks like they're ready to leave, Minister. With your permission, we'll go to St Mungo's now."

"Of course." Knigsley inclined his head. "I shall get back to the Ministry and inform the _Prophet_ of this latest development." With another smile, he was gone, walking back to the small clump of trees to Dissaparate along with his retinue. The group with Dolohov had already gone.

"How will they transfer Dolohov to Azkaban?" Harry asked the two remaining Aurors.

"A form of Side-Along Apparation, and then by broom," Nola replied. "Azkaban's in the North Sea, and warded against Apparation and just about everything else. I think it's got one fire connected to the Floo network, but that's only for high-ranking Ministry officials to use, so none of the prisoners know where it is anyway." She checked her watch. "I'll get back to the Office, tell Robards what happened, etcetera." With a wave she Disapparated.

"Right," Mona said, suddenly looking very Molly Weasley-ish, even with only one eye, "St Mungo's. Apparation's the best, if you can handle it?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered in reply, as she took his hand. "Yeah – where exactly are we going?"

"Don't worry about that, we'll do Side-Along."

88

The Purge and Dowse Limited building was still as run down and old as Harry remembered from the last time he had been here, giving no clue away as to what was really going on inside: St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. That visit had been three years ago, when Harry was half-way through his fifth year – and had seen Arthur Weasley being attacked by Voldemort's snake, Nagini. Arthur had been in St Mungo's for a while, recovering…

Harry suppressed a shiver. Seeing the snake attack had been because of the link he shared with Voldemort, and even with Voldemort gone Harry couldn't help but compare the experiences to the strange dreams he was having now…

Mona walked up close to the glass and muttered to the ugly dummy inside. "Auror Freeman bringing Auror Potter for Healer consultation."

The dummy gave a tiny nod and beckoned them inside. Through the wall, the waiting room was as crowded as ever. There were two wizards who appeared to be stuck – literally – at the shoulder, one woman whose purple-fur covered hand was skittering everywhere like a frightened animal, and a little boy whose skin seemed to be changing colour every minute. One young lady was squawking at her partner, who was trying not to laugh at her, and behind them a normal looking young man was hovering a few inches above his seat.

Harry tore his eyes from the numerous and interesting conditions of those waiting, as Mona grasped his arm and led him past the Welcomewitch. She looked up as they went past without speaking to her, saw who it was and evidently recognised Mona, for she grinned and gave Mona a wave.

"If there's one group of people you get to know quickly in our line of work," Mona said as they passed through the double doors and into a lift, "it's the St Mungo's staff. They know everyone in the department by name."

They took the lift up to the fourth floor, which was the level for Spell Damage. Mona seemed to know exactly where she was going, for she led him down the corridor and past the Janus Thickley ward. Harry looked through the locked doors as he passed, catching sight of a flash of blonde – Gilderoy Lockhart was still a patient, then. His gaze was also drawn to the back corner and two beds whose inhabitants seemed to be staring at the ceiling.

The Longbottoms…Frank and Alice. Harry felt remorse stab him and they kept walking. Neville…where was he now? He was going to do something with plants and Herbology…Harry made a mental note to owl him and see how he was. And Luna too, for that matter. She had gone travelling, Harry thought. So many people that he wanted to catch up with, now that he was never going to see them daily at school…

Mona led him into a small office with a single bed and some instruments that looked as if they had come straight from Dumbledore's office. Leaning against the bed was an older man, fiddling with the cuff of his lime-green Healer's robes.

"Ah, Mona. Received word you were on you way up." His eyes fell onto Harry. "And who is…Merlin's beard. Nice to meet you, Mr. Potter. I am Healer Dentin." He shook Harry's hand.

"Harry's our newest recruit in the Office," Mona explained. "We were out this morning tracking and capturing Antonin Dolohov, and he was hit by an unknown curse in the fight. I thought it would be best if he was checked out, just in case."

"A wise decision," Dentin nodded. He stood away from the bed and looked at Harry closely. "There's no change to the tone or look of his skin, and he's standing. What colour was it, and what did it do?"

Harry thought back. "Light blue, I think. And it was like an electric shock – sharp pain. It threw me back and knocked me out for a moment. I'm aching all over now."

Dentin looked thoughtful. "I'd say _Bombarda Maxima_ – but your ribs would be broken if that were the case." He lifted his wand and Harry felt _something_ settle over him. "No, there's no lasting magical damage. It was probably something from the _Bombarda_ family – blasting spells. You're bruised, Harry, but that's all. Rest and lots of it is what you need. Oh, and this." He turned to a cabinet and withdrew a small bottle of dark orange liquid. "Take a mouthful of this three times a day until it's gone. It'll speed up the healing process: as the bruises are inflicted by Dark magic, they'll have to heal on their own."

Harry nodded. "Thanks."

8888

Twenty minutes later, Harry was climbing out of the fireplace in the Weasley's kitchen. Mona had sent him home early, along with the promise to owl Arthur and the command to rest for a few days, and to head back into the Ministry when he felt better. They had returned to the Ministry for Harry to pick up his gear (and be given a book to skim over by Williamson) before Harry had gone down to the public Floo grates and travelled back to the comfortable familiarity of the Burrow.

Molly was there to meet him, as he had sent an owl to her from the Offices to warn of his unexpected arrival back so early. She gave him a hug (not too tightly, as Harry had briefly explained why he was back in the note) before scrutinising him at arm's length. "So what have you been getting yourself into now?"

Harry laughed. "The usual, Mrs. Weasley. I'm a magnet for trouble."

She smiled at him, but there was concern in her eyes. "Harry, dear, how many time do I have to ask you? Call me Molly. Now come sit down and tell me everything."

"Where are the girls?" Harry asked as he sat down at the kitchen table and Molly brought him over some freshly made bread. Molly flicked her eyes up to the curious clock the Weasley's owned. Ginny's hand was on 'travelling'.

"Out for a walk, but they should be back soon."

Sure enough, Harry had almost finished eating when he heard the gate open and close, and after a moment Hermione and Ginny appeared in the kitchen doorway. After asking what Harry was doing back and sitting down curiously to hear the answer, Harry told them the full story of what had happened earlier that day.

The three females reacted in different ways. Molly was constantly horrified and continuously made disapproving noises, Hermione was torn between intrigue and disgust for Dolohov, and Ginny was totally enthralled, hanging on his every word. When he mentioned being hit by Dolohov's curse, all three immediately asked if he was all right simultaneously. Harry had to pause in his story to keep himself from laughing.

When he finished his story, Molly sighed. "I know you're of age and an adult," she said, with a bitter edge to her voice, "but that still doesn't make me feel any better about you going off and running into danger every day…"

Harry almost laughed again. He'd been in more trouble than Molly would ever know, and saved the wizarding world, but she was still worried about him. On reflection for a moment he supposed she always would be: he and Hermione were basically adoptive children of hers. And it made him feel loved, if he was to be honest with himself.

Ginny put a hand lightly on Harry's shoulder. "Always saving the world."

888

He was standing before a dark house. The door was locked; no matter. A simple spell would do away with that little obstacle. Stepping over the threshold into a darkened hallway, he could see little. Relics of times past, neatly stored on their respective shelves and not a speck of dust on any. Cleaned by magic.

"Who's there?"

A voice – thin and wheezy yet strong, from the next room. A wand in the hand of an old wizard. Long, silver wispy hair and a beard. His heart stops for a moment, surprise, rather than terror, threatening to take over. Dumbledore? No, for as the wizard moves forward, he sees it is not Dumbledore, but the dead wizard's friend: Doge…Elphias Doge. He is peering into the darkness, trying to figure out his mysterious guest.

"Reveal yourself!" Elphias commands. In the hallways he stays silent, raising his own wand to curse this pathetic relic who was once a wizard…

…but Elphias is fast. Seeing the movement, he retaliates at such a speed one would not have thought capable for one that age. The spell misses him by inches, but he feels it skim his arm…he casts in retaliation and Elphias yells as the spell hits: he staggers back, off balance, and falls.

Keeping to the shadows and darkness in the house, he moves slowly to his victim and reaches down to finish him off…Elphias puts his hands up to grab his attacker's wrist and his hands are bleeding – the old, frail skin cut by his fall…they struggle and there is a call from above.

"Elphias? Are you alright?"

Another one in the house…he flees, not ready to take on two at once. He is not strong enough….

…_not yet, not strong enough yet…_

With a strangled gasp, Harry sat upright in bed, the dream – the _nightmare_ – already fading. What was that? That was…_mental_. He tried to recall it, but the images were already blurring together. A house…and Dumbledore? Maybe.

Harry lifted a hand to press against his eyes. Madness, that's what these dreams were. Madness and stress…hand halfway to his face, Harry stopped still.

There was blood on his hands.

Red and shining – still wet. His? Carefully, Harry got out of bed and checked his face and body in the mirror. No, no visible injuries. There was what looked like a burn on one arm…but that wasn't bleeding. Trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, Harry slipped out his open door and quietly down to the bathroom, to wash it off.

Sitting back on his bed, hands now clean, Harry tried to work it out. Whose was it…where had it come from…and why, oh why was he feeling so sick about all this? Could it have just been a trick of the light…even in his mind, that sounded stupid. It was someone's. Not his…no, no that was stupid. How could it be someone else's if he hadn't left his room? Perhaps it had been a sudden nose-bleed, or biting his lip or something? Surely that was a more logical answer.

Harry was unaware of falling asleep again, but before he knew it there was sunlight streaming into his room. Knowing the answers he sought would be in the _Daily_ _Prophet_, Harry went downstairs with a heavy heart.

HEHHHHHHHHHH

88

I wrote this a while ago, I'd forgotten how mean I was being to poor Harry. Oh well, onwards and upwards! Reviews are appreciated.


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